


You Make My Heart Beat (Still)

by DarkLucidity



Series: Prompts/Small Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Come Marking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'll probably add more tags later when I can think about it o.O, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Sexual Content, Slight Asphyxiation, Yeah. lots of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLucidity/pseuds/DarkLucidity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So yeah: luring Peter in was child's play. </p><p>Glancing up at Peter (who was still taller than him, damn the bastard) through hooded eyes with long lashes wasn't too difficult of a task. Running his tongue over his lips to make them glisten, wearing revealing collars showing far too much of his neck for him to be comfortable and slipping slight. . . suggestions every couple of sentences was easy.</p><p>He just didn't expect Peter to be that rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make My Heart Beat (Still)

**Author's Note:**

> Second fic ever! But the first doesn't really count since it isn't smut o.O I tried okay? I tried real hard. Writing porn is so much more difficult than it is to read it ^.^

Stiles grinned. It hadn't been too difficult to lure Peter in. You'd have thought the man would be more cautious after dying and being resurrected. Apparently not. He seemed far too trusting for who he was. Or rather. .  _what_  he was. Then again, it wasn't as if Stiles had any right to say anything. He had far more time than he wanted or needed due to Scott's abandonment of his best buddy since kindergarten. Girlfriends really took up a lot of your time huh? And being replaced by Isaac really shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. He should have known it wouldn't take long. Stiles could count on one hand how many friends he had and leave fingers to spare. It wasn't for no reason either. He knew his shortcomings. His faults. He wasn't a Saint and Scott probably just finally realised how much better he could do.

It wasn't sudden either. Scott had been distancing himself from Stiles slowly over the past couple months. He barely nodded to Stiles in the corridors much less hung out with him for their usual weekend COD sessions or movie marathons. He just. . . Left. Didn't even have the courtesy to close the door after him. Left Stiles looking at his back like a discarded puppy. Less cute, obviously, and a very irritating puppy (why else would you abandon a puppy? They're freakin’ adorable man!), but a puppy nonetheless.

Yeah he was lonely. So screw him. He was fucking lonely with too much time on his hands, no friend to speak of and a dad so deep in his work he was practically  _drowning_  in it. He was bound to make a few mistakes. Never mind that his dad had started drinking again and had found a new friend in Deputy Parrish. Stiles had never felt so useless. Parrish had practically replaced him as a son. No longer could he amble into his father's office with lunch or a chat on his mind. Parrish took care of those duties far better than Stiles ever had. Ever could. And he knew it. He didn't need it shoved in his face for crying out loud.

He got the message after the 3rd time he'd shown up with take out (Salads only. He'd make sure his dad was eating healthy even if it killed him) only to find Parrish sitting opposite his dad with lunch on the desk and his father laughing.  **Laughing**. He hadn't heard his father laugh in months. He'd hardly seen the man smile! So he just swallowed the greeting stuck in his throat and left. Walked out the doors and handed the box of food to a stray homeless person hanging out round the street. Clenching his fingers onto the wheel of his Jeep so hard his knuckles turned white, he bit back the tears he refused to admit to and breathed. Harsh, hitching breaths which sounded as though he had been deprived of oxygen for too long. Not that that wasn't what had happened. Merely affection instead of oxygen. That grin lodged in his mind clawed its way in and made a home in the front of his thoughts. It denied him any sleep for the next week.

So yeah: luring Peter in was child's play. Taught stranger danger and bad touch from a young age - thanks dad- he was well aware of the risks of older men with their leering eyes. He knew what they wanted and how they wanted it. It wasn't that difficult to pick out which ones had that glint in their eyes. Peter held the same look when he stared at Stiles. That same predatory glance not unlike that of a wolf eyeing its prey -which is quite ironic when you think about it. Stiles tried not to dwell too hard on things that invoked his slightly more morbid sense of humour. It never served him well in the past; no it just handed him blood and hurt on a silver platter and asked for a tip afterwards.

Glancing up at Peter (who was still taller than him, damn the bastard) through hooded eyes with long lashes wasn't _too_  difficult of a task. Running his tongue over his lips to make them glisten, wearing revealing collars showing far too much of his neck for him to be comfortable and slipping slight. . . suggestions every couple of sentences was not easy. Still. It was much easier than he’d like it to be and Stiles was never sure if he should worry about how little effort it took to appear innocently seductive. How simple it was reel Peter in and wait for him to succumb to his less human desires.

It served him well on the 18th week of subtle teasing and barely there touches. 

 _Even if he didn't expect it to be quite that rough_. 

He just wanted contact for fucks sake. It was all too easy to know what you had when it’s suddenly gone. Compared to before, Stiles was practically touch-starved. Deprived of affection and any means of companionship for the last half a year made a man go a little crazy okay? It wasn't fair to place the blame entirely on Stiles though. Seeking out danger was a bad idea on any day. Seeking it out just so he could feel the warmth of another person standing close to him was practically suicidal. Getting stabbed in his thigh was enough of a warning for him to get the picture. Finding death at his doorstep was not the way to achieve what he wanted. Resorting to something else is just common sense! So maybe using Peter was still . . . not his best idea. But it wasn't as if anyone was stopping him. Derek had no interest in Stiles apart from using him to get to Scott, and even that interest was fading once he realised how pathetic Scott was when he was infatuated. The fact that he was infatuated with a hunter just sealed the deal for Derek. Jackson? He'd need a death wish to actively  _want_  to talk to Jackson in any means other than insults and degradations. 

So Peter it was. 

* * *

 

"So you thought you'd tease me for weeks on end and not give me what you've been offering?"

Peter's voice husked in his ear and sent tingles down his spine. He shivered in anticipation and slight fear when too sharp teeth grazed the tip of ear and caused his breath to stutter just a bit in his chest. He hadn't expected to be slammed against a wall upon returning to the loft (For research dammit! He had things to do!) but really: It was  _Peter_. He was practically the epitome of 'Big Bad Wolf' and clichés were right up his alley. When he thought about it, perhaps it hadn't been his best idea to wear his red hoody today. It was a little tighter than he usually liked it since it had shrunk in the wash, and he was regretting wearing his skinny jeans. Danny had once told him he looked good in them, but they hugged his flesh so well it felt awfully revealing. Too revealing when it was Peter dragging his gaze over every inch of Stiles. Taking his time sliding his eyes over every inch of Stiles' body and each second felt like an eternity.

What he wouldn't give for Peter to just _touch_  him. Fingers twitching uselessly above his head where Peter held them pinned, he  _ached_  to soak in the heat Peter was radiating. So close and yet not close enough. He wanted to  _feel_  and god Peter was just  _standing_  there. He barely registered the question Peter had asked until his already hazy mind realised Peter wasn't going to do anything without answers.

"N-no. Wanted it. Was just w-waiting for you."

Mortification spread across him as his words trembled and he felt a flush of humiliation when Peter chuckled ever so softly against his neck. He must be revelling in how little he had to do to reduce Stiles to this quivering thing backed up against a wall. Both literally and figuratively.

"Really now? Never would have thought you'd be the one to play with fire. Then again, you always find some way to surprise me,  _Stiles_."

It seemed that was all Peter needed. Stiles felt the werewolf's hand squeeze around his wrists and stretch him a little further up until he was practically arching against Peter's chest in order to even remain standing on his feet. Blessed warmth emanated from the older man as he pressed into Stiles and drew his teeth down from Stiles' ear and towards his neck. The hand not pinning teenager to the wall began creeping up his shirt and sliding against his bare skin, shocking his cool flesh. Intent on driving Stiles mad with nothing more than light caresses and barely there touches, Peter skimmed over Stiles' stomach, tense and fluttering with impatience. He had to force himself not to let out the noises which begged to spill from his lips when Peter mouthed at his collarbone; licking and sucking marks into his skin with dedication focus worthy of a man at church. His lips were being bitten raw by his own teeth even as he gasped when Peter  _bit_  into his fragile (oh so fragile) neck and sent blood rushing straight to his cock.

"Just look at you, Stiles. So eager. I haven't even started and already you're practically begging."

"Well maybe if yo-" Whatever retort Stiles would have said was interrupted by a mewl of surprise when Peter pressed his lips against Stiles, hot and insistent. Stiles was already dizzy from the feel of Peter so close, but the tongue begging entrance to his mouth just caused him to groan and press even closer, opening up to Peter and allowing him inside. His lips were rough and chapped against Stile's softer ones, burning with experience the touch sparked his senses as a flame licking against his skin. Of course the man was going to be an expert at this Stiles had hardly held hands with anyone, never-mind engaged in foreplay with (and no that kiss with Scott when they were four did not count. It was a dare. Dares do not count).

He had no idea what to do, fumbling a little and trying to figure out how to breathe until Peter tilted his head just so, and suddenly everything slotted into place. His eyes slid closed after absently noting Peter's eyes were little blue rings around wide pupils, desire etched into every movement of his body and he simply allowed the older to take control. Sweeping his tongue over the inside of his mouth and sucking gently against his own. Biting down on his lower lip and tugging until Stiles was forced to moan. The taste of smoke and ambrosia so distinct on his tongue, wrapped his senses so well he grew heady, merely submitting to the other, hands still squirming uselessly in Peter's grip. 

Growls tingled against his lips when Peter pulled back, giving him only a momentary respite, a second to breathe before he was being kissed again. The shock of Peter's hand tugging at his jeans and unbuttoning them drove him to open his eyes, wild in his need to arch further into his touch. He barely noticed when his hands were released in favour of tugging down his jeans and caressing his ribcage. He was left with no idea where to place his hands and no thought in his mind other than to get some relief from pressure in his cock.

"Fuck Peter. Do _something_!" Stiles whines, finally reaching round to place his hands in Peter's hair and tug, insistent and needy.

"So impatient Little One. Don't you know you should never rush a wolf? We. Might. Bite" Peter's last words each punctuated by a nibble in Stiles neck -which seriously? He could probably start playing join the dots with the amount of hickeys Peter was placing on his skin - but he gives in to Stiles' demands, cupping his erection and crowding Stiles' space until he could feel the power lurking just under Peter's skin. Until he could imagine just how it would feel for Peter hold him down, watch him struggle and smile while he squirms in need.

It shouldn't turn him on as much as it does. It really shouldn't, but he can't help but think of the force held captive in Peter's body, hidden under the exterior of a man. Prowling, watching and seeping into his eyes, the wolf could kill him. Could hurt him. Instead it makes him want more. He wants to be greedy with it. Wants to allow himself to be enveloped in the sheer being that is Peter, enrapturing him and causing his lashes to flutter and his blood in his veins to rush and burn in the heat. He wants so dearly to let Peter sear his skin with touch and feeling until it's all he knows and all he can remember.

He digs his fingers into Peter's hair and tugs, letting the strands tickle his hands as he takes in the unexpected softness of the silver steel wisps he's clutching and soaks in the half stifled groan Peter emits at his actions. Participating a little more, he rolls his hips forwards and quivers when Peter's grip on his cock tightens and gives him something to rock into. It's heady, Peter's scent engulfing his senses and driving him closer and closer to where he wants to be.

Clawing and scrabbling at Peter's shoulders, he slams his head against the wall when Peter's hand (So hot. Even against his heated flesh) slips under the waistband of his briefs (tight black things that make Peter's wolf growl) to wrap around his dick and rub his thumb teasingly over the head, pushing away the precum at the top and using it to slick the rest of his hand, gripping his cock too loosely for Stiles to get the friction he needs. 

"F-fuck. Peter! Come o-ohhh" His complaints must have finally gotten on Peter's nerves since he shoves his knee between Stiles' thighs and ruts against him, rough and uncaring of Stiles' back, which is being shoved against the wall in a very brusque manner. Not that he really cares. Stiles hardly notices it in favour of savouring the the tight hold Peter has around his cock, twisting and pulling upwards with a flick that makes him reel in pleasure. He barely has time to gasp out a warning when Peter pinches his nipple, and he's gone. Lost in the pleasure which sparks across his body sends fire through his body. 

Only to be drawn back when Peter doesn't stop touching. Won't stop stroking and the over-sensitivity makes his knees weak and his limbs tremble. Desperate for some relief from the relentless hands grasping at his cock. He can't breathe, garbling incoherent protests against the abuse of his flesh and it makes his inhalations choked and hoarse, trying to catch up and grasp and Peter's arms.

"Can't. T-too mu-uh-much. Pet-er"

"Oh you didn't think we were finished did you? I expected more from you, Stiles"

Purring his name, Peter smirks against his lips and lets go of his cock only to place one hand on his shoulder and push downwards. Still whimpering from his orgasm, Stiles sinks to his knees with barely any hesitation, until Peter's other hand his in front of his face glistening with Stiles' come and Stile's opens his mouth instinctively, keening when he licks off his own come and loving the way his tongue rasps against Peter's calloused hand. Lapping at each of those long fingers till he leans forwards to suck them and lave them with his tongue. He barely registers the way the werewolf eyes go dark with some twisted form of lust. He does however; luxuriate in the sound of Peter's growls.

When the fingers were pulled away sharply, Stiles almost keened in disappointment, but was quick to come back to awareness at the sound of Peter's zip sliding down and the sight of his own erection right in front of Stiles. Head leaking copiously, Stiles barely has the time to register the sheer size and appearance before its pressed against his reddened lips and he pokes out his tongue to taste. 

It’s not bad per say. It’s just . . . unusual. Slightly bitter and it clings to his throat, making him feel dirty inside when he opens to take more of it in. His throat flutters and he feels light-headed, but he swallows and swirls his tongue around the engorged flesh reverently, tasting and feeling the weight in his mouth with the diligence of a student and the incessant curiosity and exploratory enthusiasm of the teenager he is. God was he grateful for his oral fixation. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, and the saliva dripping from his lips was a constant battle, but he was desperate for more and Peter's hand was clutching at his own spiky strands of hair and pulling and now he could see why Peter like it. 

Images of what he must look like, lips swollen and red, glistening with the remnants of both his own and Peter's cum, eyes hooded and glazed in arousal. Stretched around his erection, swallowing with hollowed cheeks and just hearing the slick glide of his saliva against Peter's cock was bliss. What he wouldn't do for Peter to just push him further and hold him there until his throat rippled and suffocated on him. Until his eyes rolled back and his hands scratched uselessly at Peter as he choked on the cock in his mouth. To feel those hands press against his neck and make him swallow without breathing until all he could see (hear, feel, taste) was Peter's cock and his hands and his scent wrapped around Stiles.

No, Peter is far too patient for that. But what Stiles would give to see him loose control, and he can feel the length on his tongue pulse and throb and Peter's hands are growing tighter until it hurts and it's just enough for Stiles to sink down as far as he can go and tremble while he does it but enjoy each moment. It feels as though its been an hour on his knees and they're burning with the stress of their position, but it just makes Stiles quiver all the more and Peter finally shoots with a cut off grown and forces Stiles just that bit further until he really is being asphyxiated on Peter's cock (and he never thought he'd say. . . _think_ those words).

There's barely a second before Stiles is being pulled up and shoved against the wall again, loose limbed from his own orgasm (though his cock is far from limp after that last experience) and mouth slack and swollen. His legs are shaky (and he's so grateful for the grip Peter has on him, he wouldn't be able to stand otherwise) but Peter's tongue laps at the come clinging to his jaw and bites, sucks another mark and renders Stiles incapable of communication in any way or form for at least the next couple hours. His jeans have been lost somewhere in the last couple minutes and the sound of ripping brings his attention to Peter's claws tearing into his shirt.

The sight makes his cock jerk, but he still feels the need to tell Peter he will not stand for this dammit, but what comes out instead is:

"You're paying for another one, asshole"

Which just makes Peter pull back to stare at him bemusedly and raise an eyebrow in judgement as if to say 'Really? That's what you're focusing on right now?'. 

"Yes that's what I'm focussing on, now would you just fucking touch m-mmph" Okay that was seriously getting old. Cutting off words with kisses may be really fucking hot (and really, who was Stiles to complain) but he had things to say and people to screw. . . No. Things to say and things to do . . .  . Although the former really did seem a lot more fun an- ooooohh.

The finger tracing his hole, wet with lube from god knows where, cut short his inner monologue. It seemed Peter had had at least the grace to warm it before rubbing circles against his virgin pucker, and was merely teasing. Pressing, but not pushing in and though Stiles ground down in want, Peter refused to push in and it was infuriating. Stiles writhed and squirmed against Peter, showing him just how much he needed that stretch with his hands pressing into Peter's shoulders for purchase, and baring his neck in submission in hopes he could persuade Peter to show some mercy, or even rile him up enough to make him impatient.

He twists and moans, hearing these hitchy, breathy little noises and wonders where they came from before absent-mindedly realising it was him. Until finally, after hours of frustration (Three minutes Stiles. Only three minutes) Peter's pressed in right to the knuckle and it's inside him and the stretch is so glorious it burns; rubs in all the right places and makes him pant with desire. Searching, it thrusts in and out in a steady rhythm which Stiles can't comprehend and he sobs when it presses against his prostate. His touch can't even compare to what Peter is doing to him with hardly any reservation, with no thought and it sends him reeling once again.

When the second presses in he pleads in harsh whispers and various litanies of Peter's name and hopes and prays he'll survive, he can't even imagine what it'll feel like to have Peter's cock inside of him when just his fingers have him gasping on the edge of orgasm. Both pushing inside of him, scissoring his walls and pulling him open in preparation and he can't hold himself up at all any more. Strength diminished from before and overwhelmed by Peter's thorough examination of his insides have him trembling and cursing. It's only Peter's body holding him up now, his hand splayed across Stiles' ribcage, reaching every so often to twist or rub his nipple. 

The third finger makes the world spin on its axis and makes him release for the second time. No stimulation on his cock, just from the stretch of the third finger pressing against his inner walls. His breathless scream is swallowed by Peter who just crooks his fingers and pushes against his prostate, holding him as he shudders in the aftershocks. Even then it's not enough.

Peter's patience all but finished, he pulls his fingers out and grips Stiles' waist, pushing him up and up against the wall with the strength of something inhuman and waits for Stiles to hook his legs around Peter's hips. Crotches aligned, Peter smears Stiles' cum onto his abdomen and uses it as lube for his cock, wrapping his hand around them both and Stiles cock twitches feebly in his grip, exhausted from the last two orgasms and really, teenager's recovery times are good, but not that good, and Peter doesn't seem to care, too busy sliding his hand up and down, these jerking motions Stiles can't keep up with.

"I c-can't. Peter. Too much. F-fuck"

"Yes. You can. You will" Peter rumbles in delight at Stiles' half-hearted protests and then suddenly Stiles is clutching futilely at the wall when Peter lifts him, spreads him open and lets him sink down on Peter's cock. Gravity lets him fall onto the stretch even as Peter holds him steady and his mind his blank, furiously berating him for thinking he could give up his virginity to Peter and it burns. Oh how it burns. It licks at his spine and aches and it’s so full he can't move. Peter holds him at the halfway point and all Stiles can think it that there's more, how can there be more, it’s _too_ much, it’s _so_ much, _hecanttakeithowwillhesurvivehecantbreathe-_

Lips ghosting across his slack lips, eyes staring into his own dumbfounded, glazed ones jolt him into reality when Peter murmurs against his mouth constant reassuring phrases and various praises about how good he's being and-

"Doing so well for me Stiles. So well. You can take it all. I know you can. Can't you Stiles?"

Stiles just wants to give in. He nods, half dazed with the knowledge of what he's consenting too, but still it shocks him when Peter suddenly thrusts in and lets him fall all at once and _omigod_ it's so much bigger when it’s all inside of him and it’s pressing against his prostate just right and Stile's wants to scream. Almost does except his voice his hoarse, incapable of exclaiming just how intoxicated he feels. Drowning in the over-sensitivity to his poor abused cock and Peter's just waiting, standing and letting Stiles adjust and he would voice his appreciation if he could, but he's far too gone in the feeling.

Peter obviously sensed what was going on and started moving, slow, languid thrusts as if they had all the time in the world and really, he hadn't even thought of that. What if someone came in? What if Scott came looking for him or Derek came looking for Peter and really he should not be thinking about this when he could be focussing on how Peter's cock fills every inch of him and rubs his fluttering walls in ways that make his heartbeat race inside his chest like a mouse running from a cat - or a rabbit fleeing from a wolf, and **wow** he feels so much like Little Red being devoured by the Big Bad Wolf and even he can't stop the little giggles which burst from his chest at the thought. 

Except he can because Peter's thrusts have roughened in a way that stops his train of thought and he can just hear these obscene _wet_ squelches from where Peter's cock is sliding into his hole, relentless in its pace. It's wet and animalistic and gets his adrenaline rushing through his veins and his heartbeat is pounding in his ears and he wonders whether Peter can hear it. Who's he kidding? Of course Peter can hear it. Stiles' attention is only drawn back when Peter's forehead rests against his own and they're not kissing so much as sharing the same air and he can tell Peter's close by the way his hips stutter from their smooth thrusting every few seconds.

So Stiles just breathes and claws at Peter's back hoping he can dig his nails in deep enough to leave scratches because it's not fair if Peter can leave marks and Stiles can't and he sets to work sucking and biting his own hickey in Peter's neck, growing frustrated when the mark fades mere seconds after he's made it and its after a vicious bite that he feels Peter snarl into his neck and push him against the wall, arching into him and covering every inch of his body with his own and Stiles _howls_ because he's still desperate for Peter, even after his prolonged period of sustained contact. 

A strangled noise erupts from Stiles' throat when Peter doesn't stop. Not just doesn't stop, but grows _bigger_ , presses there and waits and Stiles is panicking, pushing at Peter's chest and writhing because he thought before was bad but holy fucking god he didn't even dare to imagine this.

"You've got a fuc-fucking knot. O-of course you've got a fucking knot. _Fuck you_. Fuck you Peter"

He waits and writhes, clenched around Peter when his cock swells and it doesn't seem to end and it hurts and the pain causes his eyes to well up and he can feel the tears dripping down his cheeks and Peter's a fucking asshole for not mentioning this to him at the start and now he's fucking impaled on his dick and he's stunned. His hoody is half falling off one shoulder and Peter's still nearly fully dressed. He settles in to wait for Peter to regain his senses since he's too fucking tired to nudge him and yell at him for fucking knotting his virgin ass without permission and instead notes the slight flush on Peter's cheeks, and his own stuttered breaths.

Not so much the vision of composure now huh? 

Only Peter's not done. No he couldn't stand to have the last orgasm. He starts making these swivel motions with his hips. Grinding up and into Stiles since he can't really thrust any more and his knot is swollen right on his prostate. The pain lingers in the background and instead starts to meld with the pleasure and Stile's is exhausted but his cock betrays him and starts showing its appreciation of Peter's movements. His moans are garbled and weak, but he musters enough energy to press his lips against Peter's when he starts jerking Stiles' cock.

His breathing is ragged by now, he feels as debauched as he surely looks and Peter couldn't have turned him into more of a wreck if he tried - and really he should know not to challenge Peter to that if he wanted have his headstone say something other than 'Died of too much sex'. Cock spurting one more time he feels Peter's teeth bite once more into his neck with too sharp fangs (but it's okay, because he's not an Alpha, and really the fangs are such a turn on in the most lethal way) and swears he blacks out for a second as he cries out some vague interpretation of 'fuck' or 'god'.

"You killed me. I'm dead. You fucking murdered my once virgin ass you dickhead."

"You liked it" Peter's words are backed up by another sharp thrust against his swollen asshole and he can _feel_ where it's stretched around Peter's knot and god is his come still going? He can feel Peter's dick throbbing and pulsing inside and _ohh_ that's a startling sensation.

"Yeah. Too much. Fuck you Peter"

"Love you too darling"

Maybe he didn't make the best choice with Peter. But trapped on his dick wasn't too bad of a place to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Complete. Fuck me that was hard. And awesome ;)
> 
> I appreciate any comments or criticisms (and would in fact really like them since I do write to let you people enjoy, so any requests are awesome!) and I hope you liked it!
> 
> You can find me at my Tumblr: http://i-need-to-have-sex-like-today.tumblr.com/


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